


this is the way the world ends; not with a bang but with a whimper

by Mylifeofhockey



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Concussions, Gen, Hurt Brock, Hurt everybody really, Hurt/Comfort, Plane Crash, hurt sonny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2020-03-30 02:16:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19032703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mylifeofhockey/pseuds/Mylifeofhockey
Summary: These planes weren't supposed to crash. You don't read stories about Navy SEALS being taken out by the menacing cargo plane. It just didn't happen.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how long this will be but I'm thinking at least four chapters.
> 
> Title previously Broken Down and Tired
> 
> Title from T.S Eliot poem

It's 3 in the morning and Brock can't sleep. It's the third day of this. He goes to bed at ten, like a smart person, plays around on his phone for a half our, like a fucking millennial, then he rolls over and counts sheep. He's so fucking tired of sheep. And he knows that it's not smart to be looking at screens before bed, but it can't affect his sleeping habits  _this_ much. 

After losing his track on his sheep (he would be a terrible Shepard, he decided,) he made his way to the kitchen, rubbing his tired eyes, wondering how in the hell he can't just  _close_ them and lose consciousness, because he felt dead on his feet at the moment. 

A paw stepped on his foot, and he wondered how his clumsy ass dog could ever be so good in combat. He reached down to pet Cerberus, and a pang of guilt hit him. If he weren't awake right now then Cerb wouldn't be either and his dog would get the good night's sleep he deserved. Oh well. He pours himself a glass of milk and walks back to his bedroom, because he's way too lazy to warm it up, and feels like he might finally be able to fall asleep. He hadn't even reached his bed yet when his phone buzzed itself off his bedside table, making him scowl. When he picks it up it's a picture of Jason blaring brightly with his name flashing across the screen. His boss hardly ever called, and never at this time. Whatever it was, it had to be important. 

"Hello?" he said into the receiver, and Cerb looked at him curiously. The dog never really got the concept of phones, it seemed. 

"Brock?" Jason's muffled voice answered. 

"Yeah, what's up? Something wrong?" 

He could hear Jason breathe an audible sigh of relief, "Nah, man, we're all good."

And he hung up. 

Brock frowned at his phone, wondering if Jason had meant to end the call. And what the hell had just happened. 

"God, Cerb, now I'm never gonna sleep."

* * *

He did, by some miracle, by about 4:30, waking at 7 to be at work by 8, and he wondered how he was even still functioning. 

All through briefing, he couldn't help but notice the weird looks Jason kept sending his way as Mandy told them about their next op. "You get this girl and you get out, " Mandy was stressing, "this place might not be as stable as our intel shows."

Even as they got on the plane Jason either refused to look at him, or looked at him with an unreadable expression. It was kind of getting old, and he made a note to himself to pull Jason aside later and ask him about it. After a few minutes of arguing with himself and wishing his dog could talk to give him advice, he decided that now was better than ever to talk to Jason, especially to make sure that this wouldn't affect the op in anyway. 

Slowly he got up, patting Cerberus on the head, and made his way over to where Jason was sitting, light in conversation with Sonny. As he was making his was making his was towards them, a wave of turbulence interrupted his trek, leaving him stumbling, desperate to find something to grab onto. Vaguely he realized that the plane was tilted downwards. Were they going to crash? Cargo planes didn't crash. You don't read about cargo planes carrying Navy SEALs crashing, you read about passenger planes plummeting from the sky. This- this didn't happen. People around him started buckling themselves in, and his muddled brain decided that that was a really good idea, and he should do the same. Why was he this fuzzy? Had he hit his head? 

He made his way to an empty seat and laid his head back. God, it hurt. "Brock, buckle!" he heard someone yell really far in the distance, but he was already sitting down and wasn't that enough? Besides, his head hurt. He wanted to ask the person yelling if it could wait till later. He was so close to blissful unconsciousness that he was willing to welcome it with open arms, and he could vaguely feel arms pulling the belt around his waist, buckling him in, before he completely lost consciousness


	2. Chapter Two

* * *

"Cerb's down!" Jason hears over his comm followed by what sounds like a sob before he's cut off. He shakes his head. He had hoped that this would never happen. That they would never have to deal with the dog being hurt. It's the thing that almost made him against bringing a dog with them. And one other thing. Self sacrificing idiots that in the heat of the moment feel like their dog's life is worth more than their own. In other words, Brock Reynolds. 

He could never really tell how far Brock would be willing to go to keep his dog safe, and for whatever stupid reason, he never asked. 

So when he yells for Bravo 5 to get out of the soon to explode building where the rest of the team stood in distress, he made a note to himself to go ahead and die if he was the reason for this kid's death. When Brock finally comes to the open door of the building with Cerberus thrown over his shoulder not even thirty seconds later, Jason can't help but let out a breath of relief and gratefully, no more than a reminder to yell at him later.

That's when it all goes to hell. Whatever relief he had been feeling not even seconds ago turn to horror as the building explodes with Brock on the doorstep. Beside him, Sonny yells out and Clay falls to his knees and Trent takes an unconscious step forward and Ray's chin falls to his chest like he's already in prayer and Jason- well, Jason doesn't do anything. Doesn't know _what_ to do. What do you do when a soul gets on the fast track to heaven decades too early and it's nobody's fault but yours? It was in Brock's blood to go back for his dog- it was supposed to be in Jason's blood to remind him not to.

The next thing Jason hears is "We gather here today," and looks up to see Brock in a nice suit staring at a woman in a white gown who Jason recognizes as Brock's girlfriend, Ayiana. Cerberus sits next to Brock's brother on the stoop. Next they are saying vows and giving rings and kissing and Jason finds himself clapping, before he remembers that this can't be right- Brock is dead and Cerb is dead and Brock and Ayiana are never going to get married. This isn't real. 

With this realization the church changes and now he's in a cemetery and all the brightly colored clothes are now black. Brock has been replaced with the coffin that Jason had come too familiar with and Ayiana's beautiful gown has been replaced with a charcoal colored dress. Her blissful happiness had been replaced with the harsh reality of the world they lived in the form of tear tracks down her face. Jason only wondered for a moment where the dog was before remembering that he was dead too. Did he get a funeral, too?

Jason didn't get the chance to find out because the next thing he knew he was sitting up in his bed, gasping and clutching at his sheets. He looks over to Alana's side, hoping he hadn't woken her up. Fuck. Alana's dead too. He leaned forward and unceremoniously placed his head in his hands, trying to prevent the oncoming panic attack. After a few moments like this, his breathing was finally under control and come to terms once again with the fact, for the 685th time, Alana was dead. Brock, on the other hand. That was just a dream. Thank God, thank god. It was way too late into the night for so many people to be dead. 

With a huff he lay back in his bed, looking at the clock next to his bed. 2:48, it read. Great, he though, he could get in another four-ish hours of sleep before he got up at 6:30. He closed his eyes. They reopened instinctively. On his ceiling, lit by the pale moonlight bleeding in through his window, he could see it all again. He could see the silhouette of Reynolds stepping out of the building with the hair missile thrown carefully over his shoulder. He could see the building get blown into a million pieces, something they all knew was coming, but were still surprised when it happened. Maybe they just weren't expecting the collateral damage. Sighing, Jason glanced at the clock again. 3:04. Fucking hell. He would never get anymore sleep at this point. Unless...

He threw his hand over to his bedside table, fishing for his phone, cursing when he knocked it to the ground. He located it and was promptly blinded by the brightness and cursed once again. He needed to remember to ask Emma to make the brightness go down automatically as nighttime came.

Holding his phone considerably far from his face, like an old fucking man, he scrolled to the R's in his contact lis. 

 _Rabello, Remley,_ ah,  _Reynolds._ He quickly pressed the green call button and only when it was ringing realized how stupid the whole thing was. Nobody wanted a call this early in the morning. All he was going to do was worry Brock, and probably not even help himself in the process. Whatever. He needed to hear his voice. After a few rings Brock's oddly wide awake voice answered. 

"Hello?"

"Brock?"

"Yeah, what's up? Something wrong?"

"Nah, man, we're all good."

And he hung up the phone. He could regret it later, he thought to himself as he relaxed back into his bed, content with hearing Brock's voice. Within minutes he was greeted by the sandman and taken into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

When Jason woke to the blaring of his alarm the next morning, he gave no thought to the last night's events. It hit him like a freight train when he was brushing his teeth. He washed his saliva down the drain as he relived his dream in his head. Where did that even come from? Details came back to him, little by little, like how it was Jason's fault to begin with. Like the way Brock's wedding changed into a burial in a few short seconds. How Brock only even died because he was trying to save the stupid dog. Not that Jason didn't admire Cerberus, but when it came to the lives of his team and other brothers, the dog was not a priority. He knew, now, that he needed to make sure Brock was aware of this. 

When he saw Brock walk into the briefing room, looking slightly miffed, with a curious Cerberus glued to the side, Jason's stomach twists and he has to look away. Mandy goes through everything and he tried not to be mad at the lack of intel which doesn't work because when does it ever? He reminded himself over and over that it wasn't completely Mandy's fault but there's a pressure behind the eyes that gives him the urge to punch through drywall. 

His eyes kept drifting toward Brock as they made their towards the plane. Trying to identify the right time to make sure that Brock knows. Knows that his life is not worth anything less than the dog's. That when it comes down to it no one's life is really less important than a dogs.   "Okay, well fuck you too," he could hear Sonny retort to something Clay said, and he vaguely wondered why the Texan's comeback was so unusually weak and lacked in anything concerning, well, Texas. He watched as Ray added some probably unnecessary comment, adding on to whatever Clay had been saying. Watching Trent chortle in the background and Brock silently be silent like his usual silent self; Clay and Sonny bicker and Ray serve as a father to everyone, Jason marvelled at how lucky he must have been, to get a team where everyone had a part to play and they performed perfectly, in the field and not.

Another thing Jason realizes as they squabble, and as he comes up with his own retort that would fit into the situation nicely, is that they're all dumbasses. It's fine.

* * *

 

Jason's problem doesn't really feel like much of a problem anymore as they board the plane and take off and he watched Brock interact with teammates. He feels more comfortable with the idea of Brock not putting himself in danger for his Cerberus. 

"Sonny, no offense man, but your comebacks have taken a tumble off the deep end. They suck, man." God bless annoying Sonny Quinn. Free therapy. 

Kind of. Jason doesn't hear whatever the Southerner has to say to that- his mind quickly wandered back to Reynolds. Fuck.

A wave of turbulence interrupted his thoughts and he unhurriedly went to buckle himself in his seat. He didn't find anything to worry about- turbulence didn't cause plane crashes, especially a cargo plane. Updrafts, on the other hand, were worrisome. 

Another bout of turbulence rocked the plane and Jason glanced around habitually glanced around his team were all in their seats and buckled. Beside him Sonny was buckled in, Clay had migrated from his hammock to the safety of a seat, Ray had returned from wherever he had been roaming, and Trent had been in his seat the whole time. Jason he rolled his eyes as he saw Brock still up. More turbulence came and Reynolds was nearly knocked off his feet, catching himself with his head against the wall. He picked himself back up looking fuzzy, and Jason let the leader inside him keep him from panicking as he yelled at Brock to sit down and buckle, praying to anyone that was listening  _don't let us go down don't let us go down fuck this_.

He tore off his belt and threw himself out of his seat, swaying as he made his was to where Brock had managed to make his way back to his seat but not buckle himself in. Dissuading himself from checking his head, Jason pulled the belt around his canine handlers waist, looked around and saw that Cerberus was already in a kennel that was strapped from the ground to a bench. 

Wishing that by some stroke of luck if this plane was going to crash it would do so without him standing, he took the seat right next to Brock before strapping himself in, realizing that it wasn't smart to try to make it all the away across the plane. 

Jason's ears popped and all he could hear was Cerb's panicked barks, then he could hear no more. 

Darkness enveloped him and he welcomed it openly.

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I totally lied about update times oops. Might take awhile for the next chapter bc I'm going on vacation, but I will try to stay active. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's been so long and I am so sorry but I have to thank you for your comments. They were the only thing that kept me from completely giving up on this story. I think I'm finally figuring out where it's going, although I can't promise to update soon with finals coming up. Thank you so much for sticking around! I'll try to make it worthwhile. :)

Brock used to read about plane crashes all the time, especially the days leading up to when he was supposed to get on one. His mom would scold him and call it an obsession.

His dad assured her that he would grow out of it but as he grew dos did his interest. The more he understood why they happened, how they happened, when they were most likely to happen, the safer he felt being on them.

When he was 17 he flew from Southern California to New York City with his little sister, a bumpy ride, to say the least. He remembered bouncing around in his seat, his sister's hand grasping his, the only stable thing as her frizzy curls brushed his arm and he whispered over and over to her, "Turbulence doesn't cause plane crashes. Turbulence doesn't cause plane crashes. Turbulence doesn't cause crashes."

When the flight was preparing to land and the turbulence had calmed, she asked him what did cause plane crashes.

"More often than not," he would tell her, "pilot error." P"Why don't they have robot pilots?" she would ask, and he would laugh and boop her nose and tell her that he didn't think they were smart enough for that yet.

To ease her still active nerves he went through other causes of plane crashes, ignoring the people telling him to stop, he would only scare her. She was laughing. He told her about updrafts, which take the plane too high to where it starts to malfunction, and downdrafts, which seemed pretty self explanatory, but her tried to veer away from any conversation about planes being hijacked, as it was 2002 and talking about terrorists on a plane was never the best idea.

* * *

Now Brock sat in a pool of his own blood suffering because of the thing that used to fascinate him. Waking up was difficult, and Brock didn't really plan to as he felt the piecing pain of the sun on his eyelids, but when he heard whining coming from not too far away, he didn't really have a choice.

Brock tried to piece together what the hell had happened as he slowly moved to his feet, stopping only once on his knees to fight the nausea and dizziness. Definite concussion. As soon as he put weight on his left foot he realized that it didn't want to hold him up. From his eyes it didn't look broken or swollen, but his vision was getting fuzzier and fuzzier overtime he blinked, so who was he to judge injuries by just a glance?

He cursed himself as he realized he forgot the whole reason he got up in the first place. He gasped as he saw the wreckage around him, and the sudden intake of air caused him to look balance and slide back down to his knees. His eyebrows furrowed as he made out the unconscious forms of Jason and Clay, hanging by their seatbelts on and overturned bench. Looking around he could also see his dog, whining in his cage pawing at him, looking relatively unharmed. He couldn't see anybody else. 

Looking around Brock knew he needed to help his brothers, starting with finding them all, then he decided he would triage. He would let Cerb out to help him locate everyone. Summoning all his strength, he pulled himself to his feet, standing gingerly on his left foot. He made it just three steps toward Cerb's cage before he fell to his knees once again, thes time overcome by nausea. Everything in his stomach came out the same why it went in, and he spit in the dirt in disgust a few times before trying to stand up again. 

He felt Cerberus' eyes on him as he inched his way closer to the dog's cage. His eyes were encouraging, saying all the words that his mouth wouldn't say.

Relief flooded Brock as he finally put his hand on the cold medal of the cage and twisted the handle to open the door. He only got to undoing the lock, though, before the dizziness retired, followed by spots dancing in his vision, growing larger and larger. The last thing he was aware of before he slipped back into unconsciousness was a wet tongue licking his face.


End file.
